


Vmprs

by MaK



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Biting, Bleeding, Blood, M/M, No Smut, Teasing, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 14:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/825417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaK/pseuds/MaK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>if u look very closely u can tell that the title is just vampires without any vowels </p>
<p>+ it's unfinished and it really didnt have much meaning it behind it so (」゜ロ゜)」 bye bye fanfiction</p>
<p>In which Dave is a vampire who has intentions of seducing and leaving John alone after he gets his fill of blood, but instead is somewhat infatuated with his new acquaintance and asks Rose about his life at 1 in the morning.</p>
<p>Mentions of Rose/Kanaya, but nothing big.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vmprs

Minutes tick by as you quickly begin to lose count of how many times your tongue has come out to dash against fiery skin and how many times you’ve heard the sound of your own swallowing. You admit to yourself that it’s animalistic and disgusting - how John hasn’t thrown you off him you’ll never know, but you’re thankful for every irony drop of blood that spreads itself over your tastebuds. His hands are rested somewhat awkwardly at your side, fingers spread out on the sheets as he stays perfectly still. Your knees are touching his inner thighs and you could practically die from the warmth he simply just emits, but you don’t. You’re still craving and you can feel it begin to seep out of the sides of your lips and trickle down your chin, but you cannot bring yourself to care at all until you finally pull away and lick the blood away from your lips.

Then, you feel absolutely shitty.

John’s eyes are wide and you can hardly see any of the gracious blue that fills them up. He’s tense all over, as if hoping that if he stays still long enough he’ll disappear and maybe you will, too. His mouth is slightly agape and you can see the tops of his teeth and your eyebrows knit together in a worry you should have had before you got on the bed with him. You swallow thickly, feeling your heart in your throat and your tongue seems to turn to lead in your mouth. Despite how much you’ve talked to him, of all the shit you’ve shared that you wouldn’t ever hand down to anybody else, you cannot bring yourself to apologize to him.

Luckily, because you know it wouldn’t have been you, John speaks first. His voice sounds a little airy and perhaps somewhat thirsty and his teeth drag along his bottom lip before he decides to utter his words. “I didn’t think that’s what you meant when you asked if you can bite me,” and then he smiles a little. His eyes are still wide and you can tell he’s a little fearful, definitely hesitant, but it comforts you nonetheless that he hasn’t decided to beat the hell out of you. You can’t voice your thanks, either, but you hope it conveys itself in your red eyes.

Your sigh is heavy and you can smell the blood on your breath. “How the fuck are you not killing me right now?” you wonder aloud.

He sits back, careful not to jab his thigh onto your knee. On his haunches, John seems to relax and you’re thankful for it. “I always knew you were weird, I just didn’t think you’d be that weird, is all.” And, this time, his expression reminds you of a sympathetic one; raised and knitted eyebrows, a small smile that’s completely sincere.

It reminds you of him telling you that you’re welcome to sit in his car. As if picking up hitchhikers in the middle of a goddamn blizzard is something he did on a weekly basis, but you’re thankful of it regardless. You don’t have the will to ask him why exactly he decided that, despite being low on gas and money, he decided to pick up a complete and utter stranger. You begin to feel worse for being unable to properly voice your thanks.

“Are you okay?” he asks, leaning in once again. John is still cautious, but you can handle that. Your eyes scan the window and you’re glad to know that you won’t be slipping underneath a parked car to hide from frost and winds. Unlike with the sound of wind and flailing snow, noise is insistent on not coming out of your mouth, so all you can do is nod at him, praying that you don’t look as guilty as you feel.

While you’re certain he had no intention of ravishing you anymore than he already had, you still feel disappointed when he only kisses you before pulling away and laying down. You want to ask if you should go sleep on the couch, or on the floor, or even outside, but you still can’t talk. So, you pretend to lay down and sleep, too, and only when you hear heavy breathing do you slide out of the sheets, listening only to the soft padding of your feet against cold, wooden floors as you go out to his living room.

Your phone is out in a moments notice and you stare at walls upon walls of purple text that both you and Rose knew you weren’t going to read. Regardless, you know she’ll read yours, if only for the sake of shits and giggles, but you’re desperate right now and pray for her consciousness to be present.

 

 

TG: rose    
TG: pick up   
TG: rose   
TG: rose pick up come on    
TT: Are you aware of the mildly interesting fact that it happens to be only one where you are but four where I am?   
TG: what does that have to do with anything   
TT: It has to do with me not wanting to talk to you while I was happily asleep. Besides, your obnoxious and continuous texts woke up not only I. So, thank you for that.   
TT: I’m sure Mistress is more than pleased with this.   
TG: ok thats cool but   
TG: im actually kind of in a pickle right now   
TT: Your obsession with phallic-like objects is growing.   
TT: Really, spreading into your food choices, Dave? I have to admit, I was not expecting an addiction this strong.   
TT: Is the dick too bomb?   
TG: shut the fuck up   
TG: ok so i like bit him right   
TG: what usually happens when you do that   
TT: I get thrown out. Or, in this case, a warm bed. In most cases, though, I’m usually thrown out onto the street as someone nice looking lady screams at me and calls the cops.   
TG: yeah ok   
TG: so that like   
TG: didnt just happen   
TG: and im like   
TG: what the fuck am i supposed to do now   
TG: this has never went like this before wtf   
TT: That is certainly new.   
TT: Ironic how, only days after my very similar experience, does the same happen to you.   
TT: I would say I’m jealous but I beat you to it.   
TG: shut up what am i supposed to do hes fucking asleep right now and im half naked in a goddamn living room and its cold as dicks and all i can hear is wind rose what the hell do i do   
TT: Sleep, for one.   
TT: You’re probably a million thoughts away from your usual self just by being sleep deprived. You’ve been awake for, what, three days now? Really, you should close your eyes for a few peaceful moments (or days) and simply let your worries sink into a nice, fluffy pillow as your eyelids shut.   
TT: For another, you should probably talk it out with him rather than discuss it with the small, lit-up screen of your iPhone.    
TG: ok but what if i told you the small fact that i can hardly look in his general direction right now   
TT: I’ll give this to you in a step by step manner.   
TT: Step 1, sleep.   
TT: Step 2, talk to him.   
TT: Step 0, let me sleep now.   
TG: ok   
TG: good night rose   
TG: youre probably already asleep now you sleepy bitch   
TG: have fun with your weird lesbian mistress

 

The couch seems far more suitable than his side when it comes to the matter of sleeping. It’s freezing and you don’t want to go and ask him for a blanket and you’re still fairly certain that your throat has given up all ideas of noises, let alone English words. You settle into the springy cushions of what might as well be the hood of a car because it’s just as cold as the floor and you wouldn’t be surprised if there was frost decorating it, too.

Unsurprisingly, you find yourself the first awake in the morning. Your dying phone tells you it’s only seven in the morning, but you feel as if six hours was still more than you deserved. And, despite his actions last night, you’re positive John is going to walk out of his room with a coat and maybe some gloves and socks and tell you to leave. You don’t even think about warm palms over your hips or trailing kisses down your chest because you realize you’re undeserving of those, too, and he probably a shit ton of regret for doing it in the first place.

You may as well mold into the couch because it would be your best grave.

 

TT: Talk to him.

 

You don’t want to talk to anybody.

You fake sleep as he wanders out of his room, surprise and some sort of sick disappointment spreading through you as he isn’t holding up your shoes and a dirty jacket with the unspoken message of being kicked out. Instead, he drags his feet across the cold wood and you listen to the sound of turning knobs and coffee brewing. Though you haven’t tasted them in years, you still recognize the smell of cooking eggs as he drops them onto a pan. Because you’re sure he’s unaware of it, you take a deep breath and talk to the ceiling as you direct your words to him, “Only cook for one.”

Almost jokingly, he responds, “Aren’t you hungry, too, Dave?” John sounds teasing and laid back and it’s an absolute shock to you. You’re still waiting for him to point you to the door.

You smell pancakes and syrup and you wonder why the fuck he doesn’t just eat some goddamn cereal like any other normal person would. “No,” you say instead, turning to face the back of the couch and pray that you can cease to exist and John can go on living just this chipperly and carelessly without the thought of some gross, blood drinking animal sitting in his living room.

He comes out of the kitchen about twenty minutes later with a plate of some delicious smelling foods, but your face is still glued into the back of the couch and you have no want nor need to look at his steaming plate or his face or anything, really. You wonder if possibly becoming nonexistent is actually a thing you can do. Regardless of your obvious sulking, he sits down on your feet and puts his feet on a glass table. You feel the warm from last night in his bloodstream and your eyebrows knit together once again as you realize that you can still definitely taste the metallic flavor of his blood on your tongue. With that in mind, your heart returns to its cozy position in your throat as your anxiousness grows and you could fidget with nervousness.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks and you can hear the scraping of his fork against his plate.

Cautiously, you respond. “Um, yeah. I guess. You?”

“I had this really funny dream where you bit my neck and drank all of the blood out of my body.”

“I didn’t take that much.”

John chews on his eggs for a little while and you can hear him swallow loudly before he gives you a reply. “I know, I was just kidding, Dave. Though, I was a little surprised to actually see this ugly bruise in the mirror. Looks kind of like I got my throat punched in.”

You feel a little like crying. “I’m sorry, John.” Your heart is heavy in your throat and you can feel your eyes sting a little and it reminds you of swimming in a pool that has more chlorine than water. “I hadn’t intended on actually, um, staying this long. You weren’t supposed to be this kind. Hell, you weren’t supposed to pick me up in the middle of a blizzard, John.”

“What was I supposed to do? Let you die of hypothermia?” you don’t have to look to tell that his eyebrow is raised and that he’s judging you. In afterthought, he’s probably judging himself, too.


End file.
